| My driftin' mem’ry goes back to the spring of '43
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| When I was just a child in mama’s arms
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| My daddy plowed the ground and prayed that some day we could leave
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| This run down mortaged Oklahoma farm
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| Then one night I heard my daddy sayin' to my mama
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| That he finally saved enough for us to go
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| California was his dream a paradise wall he had seen
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| Pictures in magazines that told him so California cottonfields
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| Where labor camps were full of worried men with broken dreams
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| California cottonfields was as close to wealth as daddy ever came
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| Almost everything we had was sold or left behind
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| From daddy’s plow and the fruit that mama canned
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| Some folks came to say farewell and see what all we had to sell
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| But some just came to shake my daddy’s hand
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| The Model A was loaded down and California bound
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| And a change of luck was just four days away
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| But the only change that I remember seeing for my daddy
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| Was when his dark hair had turned to silver gray
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| California cottonfields…
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| California cottonfields… |